It's not me.
I haven't changed one **** bit.
I used to like to sleep.
But then you would keep me up with your long talks and sweet words.
Now I stay up waiting for at least a text from you.
Until I grow tired and weary of waiting.
And nothing.

It's not me.
I haven't changed one **** bit.
I didn't care for poetry before.
And now look at me.
Waist deep in metaphors and things that don't rhyme, trying to find some crazy way to explain how hurt, angry, and in love I am with you.
I haven't changed one **** bit.

It's not me.
I haven't changed one **** bit.
I am the constant in this ever changing world of liars and people who run.
I have been traded and sold, but I am still the same.
I have gained and ultimately lost, yet I am still the same.
So hell yes; I am blaming you.
You have become restless in this world and decided to break free of your mold.
Decided to break free of me.
But it's fine.
I am still the **** same.